My mom started dating again the summer I turned fifteen. At first, there was a different man every weekend, a revolving door of graying men with flashing teeth. Then there was the same man, a masseuse with the last name Wolf. Wolf wore the ashes of his first wife around his neck on a piece of braided hemp. Years later, my mother would tell me that this man occasionally called her by the name of his dead wife during sex. That summer she only told me that he knew how to play the drums. Maybe he can teach you how to play the drums, my mom said. He is very good at playing the drums.